FF8 - Striking of The Hour
by Astarte
Summary: A short story about Irvine's fateful choice


The Striking of the Hour  
By Astarte  
========================  
  
Tick. Tick. Tick.  
  
The steady mechanical sound of the huge clock drummed into his head. It was a sound that he was beginning to hate and dread, the awful sound of conscienceless obedience. The giant clock marked time with relentless patience, never aware of what effect it had on the rest of the world. A second passes, one option lost forever, a choice that can never be retrieved. The clock did not care, could not care. Irvine was not a machine. He could see the options flashing past, and know regret. He felt like a traitor of the worst kind. Worse, he could not see a way out of this. Inevitable like the passage of time.  
  
Tick. Tick. Tick.  
  
He could do this. They were counting on him. Everyone, his friends, his comrades, his fellow students. They told him it was important and had shown him the facts. He believed, he'd read, but still it was hard. He wondered if they had any idea of what they were asking him to do. Irvine clutched the rifle so tightly that it actually hurt when he finally relaxed his grip. He could do this. He could. His hands began to shake so badly that he held the rifle in another death grip.  
  
Tick. Tick. Tick.  
  
Time was running out. If he didn't find the courage to do it now, he didn't think that he ever would. He wished that he could be fighting those Iguions still. That had kept his mind clear, distracted. He hadn't had to think about anything other than survival and saving a young woman's life. But now he had nothing to distract him from what he was going to do. He could only wait. Wait and listen to the clock.  
  
Tick. Tick. Tick.  
  
He looked over at the others. The girl was new but he remembered Squall. Back then, an entire lifetime ago, they'd grown up together. He wished that he could forget like Squall had. Squall didn't seem to remember anything at all, he looked at Irvine like just another stranger. Irvine wanted desperately to forget. If he forgot, he could do this. He could shoot her. Sorceress Edea. Matron. Mother.  
  
Tick. Tick. Tick.  
  
Beautiful, gentle matron. Always a smile and a kind word, a loving caress, a hug and a cuddle. She'd always been there when they'd needed her most, with a loving touch or a bandage. Irvine remembered childhood dreams of growing up to marry her, torn between his affection for Selphie and his childish adoration for his matron, innocently unaware of time. His heart felt as though a band of steel was crushing it. Horrible aching pain. The pain of betrayal.  
  
Tick. Tick. Tick.  
  
Irvine began to sweat, trying to shake the old images from his head. For whatever reason, she wasn't matron anymore. She was an enemy, a target. Something to look at through the cross-hairs. She was something to shoot at, an enemy to eliminate. She was not the woman who'd become like a second mother, not the kind face he remembered, not the soothing angel who'd made all his hurts go away. A target, a target, he chanted in his heart trying to force himself to believe it. Images of her gentle eyes, the long flow of her ebony hair that tickled his nose, haunted him.  
  
Tick. Tick. Tick.  
  
Squall knew by now that something was wrong and tried to talk to him. He thinks its just nerves, Irvine thought laughing with near hysteria. We're here to kill the closest thing to a mother we ever had, he wanted to scream, and you wonder why I'm falling to pieces. I can't do this. Squall was trying to reason with him but he couldn't hear it, all he could hear was her soft voice, all he could see were her lovely eyes.  
  
Tick. Tick. Tick.  
  
The clock was rising. Time had run out. He had to make up his mind now. No matter what he did though, he would be a traitor. Shoot and betray the woman who had raised him, loved him like her own. Don't shoot and betray everyone who depended on him to protect them from the mad sorceress she'd become. Out of the deafening din of the clock, he suddenly heard Squall's voice.  
  
"I don't care if you miss. Whatever happens, just leave the rest to us. Just think of it as a signal. A sign for us to make our move."  
  
Tick. Tick. The clock stopped.  
  
The bands of steel shattered from around his heart. A signal. Just a signal? He could do that. He could live with that. A sign for the others. He watched the parade. Edea, sitting on her throne, looking nothing like the gentle matron he knew and loved, sneered down at the people who adored her. I can do this, he thought, carefully positioning himself. Just a sign, he murmured to himself, convincing himself that it was so. He took aim, letting his heart slow, letting his breathing calm.  
  
"...Just a sign," he told himself as he aimed at her lovely face.  
  
Between heartbeats, he took the shot.  
  
FIN  
  
  



End file.
